


Bloodletting is Not a Blood Sport

by Alexdoesthings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt Derek, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3092912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexdoesthings/pseuds/Alexdoesthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is dying. This is, sadly, nothing new, except that Stiles really doesn’t know what to do this time. No one is answering his calls and Derek is out of it more often than he’s lucid.</p><p>Post season 3<br/>After Kate attacks the loft, Derek gets away. Injured and dying, he needs help and ends up in the Stilinski's driveway.</p><p>(Could be Gen but my shipping goggles are always on with these two)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodletting is Not a Blood Sport

**Author's Note:**

> There's blood and injuries and if that's not your thing then this probably isn't, but I don't think it's bad enough for a warning. If you disagree and think I should put more a warning on this, please let me know and I'll do that right away.
> 
> I wrote this at some point after watching the end of season 3 and thinking that it would be great if Derek got away and this time found Stiles when he was bleeding and needed someone to save his life. Let's face it, we all know he was looking for him earlier in the season when he stumbled upon evil disguised as a rather attractive teacher.
> 
> Anyway, I thought it deserved to be put up even though it feels like it's not really relevant anymore and hasn't been put through much editing since its inception.

Derek came stumbling up to him from the shadows at the edge of the house with scratches and bite marks all over him and a hole blown in his chest. One of his hands was pressed over the worst of it and the other was leaving bloody smears on the siding. He coughed out Stiles’s name around a bubble of blood when he saw him, relieved. Stiles stared for a few seconds, frozen, then rushed to Derek, who collapsed into his arms as soon as Stiles grabbed onto him. Stiles wasn’t ready for it and had to stumble back to keep from falling back and ended up going to his knees with the werewolf clutched to his chest.

“What the hell happened,” Stiles asked, staring aghast at the wreckage of Derek’s body.

“Kate, she-” Derek cut off on a horrible, wet cough.

“On second thought, don’t talk,” Stiles said, hurriedly, digging in his pocket and retrieving his phone with a shaking hand.

“Not the,” Derek said urgently as a man could through blood choking his lips as he grabbed Stiles’s hand to stop him dialing 911, “hospital.”

Stiles looked back into Derek’s dulling but still harsh eyes. He wasn’t going to last the next few hours if someone didn’t help him fast and fear was gripping Stiles’s heart.

“Whatever you say big guy,” Stiles said quickly, trying to get Derek to stop using energy he needed to heal, “But we need to call someone.”

Stiles fumbled his phone as he pulled it away from Derek but managed to punch in Scott’s number. It went straight to voicemail as soon as Stiles put it up to his ear. He cursed and left a curt message to find him immediately. He called Deaton next, praying that the vet would know what to do. The time it took to get to voicemail was agonizing and Derek’s breathing was getting weaker with each ring. Stiles pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at it helplessly. There were bloody fingerprints smeared all across the face of the touch screen, marring the blue glow.

“Alright, uh,” Stiles said, casting around for something, “Mellisa!”

He dialed her number and waiting anxiously for the connection, looking down at Derek whose eyelids were drooping ominously. By the second ring, Stiles couldn’t take it anymore and dropped the phone to the ground.

“I can do this,” he reassured himself, voice a little higher than normal, “how hard can it be?”

Stiles set Derek on the cement of the driveway as gently as he could in his rush. The movement seemed to jar Derek back to consciousness to some degree and he raised a hand after Stiles as he raced to the back of the jeep to grab the jumbo sized first aid kit he’d taken to carrying around in there. When Derek saw him running back his hand dropped onto his chest and his eyes dropped in relief, like he’d thought Stiles was going to leave him.

“Hey, stay with me,” Stiles said urgently, tapping Derek’s cheek to call him back, “why isn’t this healing?”

“Bullet’s still,” Derek managed to spit out before a mouthful of blood choked the words again. He coughed again and blood dribbled down his chin to join the rest.

Stiles got the message though, repeating for good measure, “Bullet’s still in there? Okay, okay. Got to get that out of there.”

He closed his eyes for a second to get his bearings. He really didn’t want to dig the bullet out. He was having enough trouble with this as it was, fighting off his light headedness with all the strength he possessed.

The thing he pulled out looked like a fancy pair of needle nosed pliers. It probably wasn’t the best he could have used, but Stiles didn’t have much else and he could not handle rooting through Derek’s internal organs with his fingers alone. He pulled slightly shaking fingers through a pair of gloves and swallowed hard, mouth dry. He tried to distract himself so he wouldn’t have to think about it too much as he plunged the silver tool into the bloody mess that was Derek’s chest.

Stiles found a piece, the metal of the tool hitting the metal shrapnel. Derek woke up then and was trying, and failing, not to scream in agony. Stiles held his chest down with all his weight on his unoccupied hand as the werewolf tried to move his body in the instinctual attempt to move away from the source of his pain. Stiles grabbed the small hunk of metal and tugged it out, trying to leave as little damage as he could in the process. Blood spurted from the extraction point and got all over the front of Stiles’s shirt before the wound closed up.

Stiles couldn’t handle it. He turned his head away and emptied his stomach violently onto the grass. He coughed and spat, thankful he’d drunk plenty of fluids. It was a horrible taste but he felt a little better. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, grit his teeth, and dove back in, trying to find the metal among the organs.

He found three more pieces and Derek lost consciousness twice before the wounds started to heal properly. Stiles was about to dig in again for more when Derek’s hand landed weakly on his, staying him once more. Stiles shot him a look of confusion and Derek nodded tiredly, breathing hard. Blood wasn’t dribbling out of his mouth and clogging his throat anymore. Stiles sat back on his heels, relieved, and put his hands on his knees to hold him up so he could just close his eyes and breathe.

“You owe me big time for this,” Stiles said wearily, relieved the worst of it was over.

He slung one of Derek’s arms over his shoulder and drug him inside and into the bathroom. He rinsed the worst of it off Derek with warm water and then himself, hands moving mechanically. He shut the water off and wrapped them both in towels on the tile. He elevated Derek’s legs and put the werewolf’s head on his thigh, not sure if werewolves could go through shock, but not wanting to test it right now. It wasn’t until he looked at the drain and saw the red water filtering slowly down into the black abyss of the pipes that the night finally hit him and he fainted.

That was how his Dad found them at four in the morning, laid out on the bathroom tile looking like they’d just gone through war.


End file.
